Against His Expectations
by Wravyn
Summary: Spike's got a truly BRILLIANT plan to defeat the Slayer (we'll have to take his word for it). All he needs to get it going is the right bait. Unfortunately, he'll have to make do with Cordelia.


Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah.  
  
Distribution: Ask and ye shall receive.  
  
Spoilers: Just a general time period, no real episodes. It takes place  
  
around the second season somewhere, after Spike shows up in Sunnydale, but  
  
before he loses the use of his legs and before Angel becomes Angelus.  
  
Author's Note: For some reason, I couldn't get Cordelia to act like herself.  
  
I guess it's a sort of mind block because I haven't written in so long.  
  
Never mind the uncharacteristic actions, I guess you could pretend she's  
  
always like that.  
  
Feedback: Just the fact that I've made this a sub-heading must give you a  
  
little hint . . .  
  
---------  
  
Against His Expectations  
  
  
  
Spike had a plan.  
  
It was a good plan, really, and he was rather proud of thinking it up. It  
  
involved . . . well, never mind what it involved, but anyway, he wasted no  
  
time in setting things up. If all things worked out – and he saw no reason  
  
as to why they shouldn't – then he should have the Slayer and his sire in  
  
his grasp by the end of the week. Personal satisfaction would come in  
  
killing them, of course, he wouldn't deny it, but more importantly, he  
  
needed Angel's blood for his darling princess.  
  
All he needed was the right bait.  
  
His first choice had been the witch, of course, seeing as how she was the  
  
Slayer's best friend and all and therefore would cause the most concern  
  
should she suddenly disappear. However, she was out of town for the week  
  
with her parents, and he was in a bit of a hurry to get this plan over and  
  
done with. Besides, with her out of the way, he'd have less of the annoying  
  
anti-vampire society coming after him armed with holy water and crosses.  
  
The Watcher was also out of town by an amazing coincidence, he realized  
  
sourly, at some Watcher's convention up in good 'ole England, or so one of  
  
his sources had informed him.  
  
He next thought of the boy, the one that followed the Slayer around like an  
  
adoring puppy dog, but almost immediately scrapped the idea. He had heard  
  
about this Xander and how he had pissed the fuck out of everyone of his  
  
minions that had seen him in all his incompetent glory, and he suspected  
  
that after two minutes with the bugger he'd invariably snap his neck without  
  
having had a chance to carry out his masterful plan.  
  
And it really was a great plan. It entailed . . . but no . . . he really  
  
couldn't tell anyone. Even Dru was kept in the dark about this one. He  
  
didn't want to raise her hopes in case it didn't pan out. But it would  
  
work. It would. He had faith in it.  
  
It really was a great plan.  
  
But anyway, as far as possible hostages go, that left only the loud girl,  
  
the reluctant associate of the Slayer's. Cordelia.  
  
It wasn't the best alternative, but it would have to do.  
  
It shouldn't be too much trouble to snatch her and keep her locked up. In  
  
no time at all, his princess would be all right and they could leave this  
  
stupid pit of a town.  
  
* * *  
  
He had been right. It had been so easy to kidnap her. He barely even had  
  
to try.  
  
As far as the pesky requirement to be invited into a home before entering,  
  
well, that had been easily taken care of beforehand. He got the maid to let  
  
him in, of course. Told her he was the plumber – the silly girl had  
  
apparently not thought anything strange of a leather-clad plumber with a  
  
British accent knocking on the door after sundown – and had waltzed right  
  
in. He had thanked her very kindly with a bow and a wink after crossing the  
  
threshold, and she had blushed at his gallantry. She was still blushing a  
  
lovely rosy red when he snapped her neck.  
  
His intended target never saw or heard a thing. Her parents were out that  
  
night, surprise, surprise, and he had snatched her right out of bed.  
  
Literally. All it took was a little something extra slipped into the glass  
  
of water she kept on her nightstand while she was washing her face and  
  
brushing her teeth. A sip of the stuff, and it was off to La-la Land for  
  
the unsuspecting lass, and he had very easily carried her off to his car and  
  
zoomed off.  
  
* * *  
  
She was in a happy place, a lovely place; of sunshine and daisies of and  
  
fluffy blue clouds and bunnies, with the faint strains of carousel music in  
  
the background. It was pretty. She lifted her face to the sunlight and  
  
smiled, raising her arms above her head and twirling . . . twirling . . .  
  
until she fell down onto the grass in a fit of dizziness.  
  
She giggled, and got up unsteadily to begin again. The full skirt of her  
  
white dress spun around her, and the long stream of her hair whipped about  
  
her face. She laughed outright at the pure joy of it all. The birds were  
  
singing, the butterflies were winging, and she was dancing in a field of  
  
flowers.  
  
What a perfect way to spend a perfect day.  
  
There was a man coming from the distance. His arms were outstretched and  
  
his smile was welcoming. Her eyes widened and she picked up her skirts to  
  
run into his arms. He picked her up by the waist and spun her around. She  
  
squealed in delight and pressed her face against his neck.  
  
"Oh Spike," she whispered. "I love you."  
  
He stroked her dark hair gently. "I love you too, Cordelia." He kissed her  
  
full on the lips and she sighed in pleasure, wrapping her arms around him  
  
tightly as she half-melted in his embrace.  
  
Birds were still singing, butterflies were still winging, but neither of the  
  
two took any notice as they happily proceeded to kiss the day away.  
  
Yes, it was a perfect way to spend a perfect day.  
  
* * *  
  
He stood staring at her sleeping form, not quite sure of what he had thought  
  
he heard her say. He frowned as he tried to figure out a possible  
  
alternative to her words. Surely not "I love you, Spike." Impossible. He  
  
must have heard wrong, that's all.  
  
He gave her another once-over, taking in every little detail, from the  
  
tangled mess of hair to the ends of her lacy nightgown. The corner of his  
  
mouth lifted in a slight smile at the sight. Luckily Dru was playing with  
  
her stupid dolls in another room and did not see his appreciative appraisal.  
  
He put his hand on her shoulder and shook her lightly. "Rise and shine,  
  
sleeping beauty."  
  
She moaned and turned over, reaching for a blanket that was not there. Her  
  
face grimaced slightly and her hand went up to rub her sleepy eyes. She  
  
opened them to a penetrating gaze of blue and a haze of white-blond.  
  
Thinking she was dreaming, she closed her eyes again. "Urmph," she mumbled  
  
unintelligibly, and flopped over in bed.  
  
His frown deepened, and he temporarily forgot about what was surely a slip  
  
of the tongue. "I said get up," he said, his voice rougher this time. He  
  
shook her a little harder, and was surprised and not a little annoyed when  
  
she shrugged it off.  
  
"Five minutes, Doris," she said more clearly this time, a scowl flickering  
  
across her features as he persisted in throttling her awake.  
  
She sat up suddenly, eyes flashing fire. "I said five minutes! God, how  
  
hard is it to under . . ." She stopped talking abruptly as she recognized  
  
the figure by the bed as not being her maid.  
  
"What . . .?" The scowl in her face was replaced by a look of confusion.  
  
Confusion, but no surprise. No fear, either, and this upset him further.  
  
"I kidnapped you, and therefore you are my prisoner," he said pointedly,  
  
arms crossed across his chest as he waited for his words to sink in.  
  
She thought about this for a moment. "Why?"  
  
He looked at her incredulously. "For reasons I bloody well don't need to  
  
share with you."  
  
She gave him a dirty look at that. "You've broken into my house – totally  
  
invading my privacy, by the way – and stolen me from my bed in the middle of  
  
the night, don't you think I deserve some sort of explanation?" Her gaze  
  
did not falter and she drummed her fingers on one knee lightly.  
  
He blinked. This was not how he had planned it. He had expected panic,  
  
tears, maybe, or at the very least, whimpering. He was Spike, for God's  
  
sake, and it was not like she hadn't heard of his more adventurous escapades  
  
before. She must have – she had been spotted as one of the Slayer's crew,  
  
and surely she knew who he was? Didn't she?  
  
"Do you know who I am?" he demanded.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Spike, also known as William the Bloody, the only  
  
vamp ever to bag himself two Slayers," she recited banally. "What's the  
  
matter, are you having an identity crisis now?"  
  
He gritted his teeth in frustration. "So if you know who I am," he  
  
enunciated slowly, "and you know what I can do, why the fuck aren't you  
  
screaming your pretty little head off?"  
  
Instead of answering his question, her face brightened almost imperceptibly.  
  
She looked down and inspected her nails in a casual manner. "You think  
  
I'm pretty?"  
  
"What the . . . ?" I asked you a question, pet, and I want an answer!"  
  
She scowled. "Well someone woke up at the wrong side of the coffin this  
  
morning!" she exclaimed irritably. She pulled her legs up from under her  
  
and swung them off the side of the bed. "I don't see why you can't just  
  
answer a question without turning every damn thing into an argument." She  
  
turned her face away from him haughtily.  
  
"It's eleven o'clock. PM. And for your information, vampires don't sleep  
  
in coffins. In fact, the bed you are on right now is mine," he told her,  
  
suppressing the urge to strangle the annoying little chit. He clenched and  
  
unclenched his fists in exasperation, wondering how the hell he had gotten  
  
involved in a domestic argument with her. With his prisoner, the one who  
  
was supposed to be terrified of him. Instead she was sitting on his bed  
  
with an equally exasperated look on her face, running her fingers through  
  
her tangled tresses with an air of unconcern for her safety.  
  
"Fine, you don't do the coffin thing," she said, still not looking at him.  
  
"That doesn't give you an excuse to be so grouchy. I was only asking you a  
  
question."  
  
"I asked you a question first!" he pointed out.  
  
She cast him a cold stare. "Well if you're going to be a baby about it,  
  
then fine, I'll answer it. What was the question?"  
  
"WHY AREN'T YOU AFRAID OF ME?" he roared.  
  
She raised her eyebrow. "Should I be?"  
  
That was it. He was going to kill her, hostage plans or no hostage plans.  
  
Surely even that Xander boy couldn't be as much of a bloody pain in the ass  
  
as this girl was! He was by her side in an instant, fingers at her throat.  
  
"How about you stop trying to antagonize me and tell me what I want to hear,  
  
pet," he murmured into her ear as he softly traced a finger along the line  
  
of her neck. She tensed, and he chuckled. He bent closer to the  
  
tantalizing throbbing of her pulse, feeling the blood flow under his  
  
fingertips even as he stood there waiting for the inevitable cry of fear.  
  
Ahem. Waiting for the inevitable cry of fear.  
  
Waiting. For. The. In-evi-ta-ble. Cry. Of. Fear.  
  
Waiting . . .  
  
Why wasn't she crying out? She was rigid, he could feel her trembling  
  
slightly, but why wasn't she struggling? Or screaming, for that matter.  
  
Was it possible? Had he lost his ability to instill fear in humans? Why  
  
could he not make even this normally cowardly girl afraid of him? He  
  
suddenly lost the thrill of the game and felt rankled. Again. He dropped  
  
his arms and stepped away. "Bah," he muttered to himself as he went over to  
  
the bed and sitting down. "I've become a sodding softie."  
  
"Nooo," she gasped, still shaking.  
  
He glanced at the girl, who was still standing where he had left her. He  
  
was sure she hadn't heard his mumbling, so what was she talking about now?  
  
"What are you talking about now?"  
  
She turned to face him, eyes suddenly wide and all semblance of nonchalance  
  
and bravado gone. He mentally congratulated himself. Seems as though he'd  
  
shook her up after all . . .  
  
"Don't stop . . ." she breathed.  
  
He stared at her, stunned. "What?"  
  
Her eyes searched his almost desperately. "Don't stop," she repeated.  
  
He stood up from the bed, and then sat down again in bewilderment. He tried  
  
to compose himself, but the surprise that he felt upon hearing her unlikely  
  
words had left him in a daze. He finally looked up at her with a studiously  
  
blank expression on his face.  
  
"I repeat my question from before, and you'd better answer it this time,  
  
ducks. What are you talking about now?"  
  
And just like that her trembling stopped, and the look of aggravation was  
  
back. "Don't tell me you didn't feel anything."  
  
"Feel what???" he demanded.  
  
"Oh, for . . ." She took a deep breath and rubbed the side of her head in  
  
irritation. "When you had your arms around me," she spelled out, talking as  
  
if he were missing a little upstairs. "Don't tell me you didn't feel the  
  
spark."  
  
"Spark???"  
  
"Yes, spark! Do you think I'd be this calm about being kidnapped by an evil  
  
bloodsucker if there wasn't a spark?" she yelled, looking anything but calm.  
  
He merely gave her a look.  
  
She opened her mouth and let out an impressive scream.  
  
"ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
He jumped, and backed away nervously. She was unsettling, that girl. She  
  
was the one who was probably missing a little upstairs.  
  
"There was a spark!" she insisted loudly. "I've been having dreams about  
  
you and me for weeks now, so don't you dare tell me there wasn't a spark!"  
  
She sucked in another breath, probably preparing for another lung-busting  
  
bellow. He vaulted across the room and clamped his hand over her mouth to  
  
keep her quiet, glancing at the closed door nervously. If Dru had overheard  
  
. . .  
  
The door remained closed, and he let out an unneeded sigh of relief. His  
  
princess would be jealous of the fact that he had a girl in his room . . .  
  
although it was perfectly innocent, really.  
  
She had stilled at his touch, and he realized his error immediately. She  
  
turned around in his arms and gave him a bone-crushing hug.  
  
"I knew you felt the spark," she murmured before pressing her lips against  
  
his.  
  
She was insane. Positively loony. Right out of her bloody mind . . .  
  
Hmm . . .  
  
But then he did have a thing for crazy females, so he kissed her back.  
  
Oh, he still loved Dru with all of his heart, and he fully intended on  
  
carrying out his magnificent plan, but who's to stop him from humoring . . .  
  
that's right . . . humoring . . . the nonsensical whims of this girl?  
  
Somewhere in the back of his head, he heard a muffled bang, and a familiar  
  
voice penetrated his consciousness. "Spike, my precious, I . . .  
  
aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!"  
  
He pulled away to see Dru with her hands pressed against her face, wailing  
  
like a banshee.  
  
"Dru . . . pet . . . it's not what you think!" It wasn't supposed to be like  
  
this! She was supposed to be scared! He was supposed to scare her! She  
  
wasn't supposed to be lusting after him! And he wasn't supposed to  
  
encourage her! What the bloody hell did she think she was doing, kissing  
  
him like that? What the bloody hell did he think he was doing? This was not  
  
supposed to happen! THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!  
  
His panicked eyes darted from where his princess lay rocking and moaning  
  
incoherently and where Cordelia stood with a triumphant look on her very  
  
satisfied face.  
  
"I told you there was a spark."  
  
FIN  
  
Based on the quote: "Dreams are nothing more than wishes and a wish is just  
  
a dream" from some song on the You've Got Mail soundtrack... 


End file.
